Dismantle Me
by onecouldn'tsee
Summary: Jackson is a closet masochist. Derek wants to do some damage. AU. Slash. M for a reason. You were warned.
1. Wrecking

"Jackson." The voice is quiet, bouncing off all the metal and tile and burrowing into his ears, making him shiver. He hasn't heard it many times, but it's already made its impression. Jackson doubts that it will ever be forgotten. He turns slowly, eyes down, grateful that he'd at least managed to pull his jeans on before this encounter. "Look at me." Breath catching painfully in his chest, Jackson looks up. He's too far away. No. No, he didn't just think that. He didn't want this man who could make him feel so powerless, Jackson barely stifles another shudder, any closer. Derek smiles softly, a small sliver of teeth showing through his dark lips. "Good boy," he murmurs, drawing closer. A whimper gets caught halfway up his throat and Jackson finds his back curving down, making his chest a concave sculpture of skin and bone. He backs up unintentionally, the middle of his spine brushing against frigid metal. Derek continues his advance, pausing barely a foot away before sliding his eyes closed and inhaling deeply. "So responsive," he breathes, "and I haven't even touched you yet." Derek's hand lifts and crashes through the space between them, stopping at the last moment, hovering over Jackson's body. Goosebumps spike through the skin and Jackson blinks slowly, trying not to think at all. Derek smiles again, through this is more of a predatory snarl really. Jackson whimpers unwillingly. This one manages to escape and he can feel his throat and chest flush in pure, unadulterated embarrassment. He closes his eyes and wills it to be over. He wills Derek to vanish as suddenly as he appeared. He wills it to be a dream. He wills himself to fall over dead. Anything.

A fingertip drags across his cheek uninvited and Jackson's eyes shoot wide, meeting Derek's clouded ones. "I know what you need," Derek reveals, withdrawing his finger before curling his hand and retracing the path with several knuckles.  
>"I d-don't need anything from you," Jackson manages, barely. Derek simply chuckles.<br>"You're used to lying," he says, stepping closer still and placing his hand flat on the lockers next to Jackson's head, "so I'll let that pass." He leans even closer and Jackson straightens his back quickly, pushing his head as far away as he can. Derek doesn't respond to this at all, apparently unbothered by the fact. He keeps moving closer and Jackson turns his head to the side, desperate for any escape. Death still looks pretty good. But who is he kidding? This is exactly the sort of thing he's been thinking about day and night ever since it happened the first time. It's… He can't find the words, a slight groan slipping out. It's horrible and humiliating, it's perfect. "Don't make it a habit," Derek breathes in his ear, warm air curling in the shell. Jackson closes his eyes wondering if he plays dead if Derek will back off. Much as the sick, inner part of him is enjoying this he knows it's not going to end well. Not that it really could anyways. "Don't ignore me Jackson." Derek moves, his chest brushing against Jackson's. The metal zipper on his jacket digs into Jackson's chest. It's cold and rough. He bites his lip but not in enough time to catch the moan. Derek makes an amused noise in response, somewhere between a chuckle and a grunt. Jackson flushes again. It's so hideous he can feel himself tightening in his jeans. _God_ he hates this, he needs this.

Derek's hands land on his hips suddenly. There's nothing smooth or gentle about the action and after another second his fingertips are digging into the flesh above Jackson's jeans painfully. Jackson opens his eyes and swings his head, Derek moves back in response, stopping their heads from knocking together. Jackson's breaths are coming in fractured gasps. He's trying so hard to hold it together. "Do as I say," Derek says slowly, each word announced carefully.  
>"Or what?" Jackson challenges. He couldn't have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He didn't want to. Derek's eyes flash and his fingers are pressing harder.<br>"You already know that answer." Jackson shudders so hard he nearly falls over. "Are you going to do what I want?" Jackson doesn't know exactly what Derek is asking. It doesn't matter in the end. He nods his head without questioning the taller man. He thinks he sees Derek smile, if only for a second, but then the expression is gone. Derek's right hand on Jackson's left hip clutches him even harder, Jackson is sure it's bruising, his left hand moves to the snap of Jackson's jeans, teasing over it. Jackson reacts without thinking, he grabs Derek's wrist with both hands. Derek's anger is immediately apparent, practically rippling off him.  
>"N-no," Jackson gasps. "N-not here. Please." Derek moves his hand firmly over Jackson's crotch, Jackson's hands doing no good at all to stop him. He squeezes hard; eliciting a weak groan from Jackson's parted lips.<br>"Let's get something straight right now," Derek growls, "you don't say no to me. The word 'no' is not even in your vocabulary if I am _telling _you to do something. I don't ask. You don't have a choice." He gives another painful squeeze and Jackson thinks he's going to lose it right there in his pants. "Take your hands off me," Derek breathes after another moment. Jackson drops his hands away as if he's been shocked. They cling to the lockers as he tries to find purchase.

He is rewarded with a gentler touch, Derek rubbing him through his jeans. Jackson wonders if it is actually a reward or simply further warning. Derek said he knows and so far he's exhibited that. He knows Jackson's dirty little secret. He knows what Jackson likes. Gentle rubbing is definitely not it. As if Derek is reading his thoughts, perhaps just his expression, he squeezes again. He doesn't let go immediately, releasing Jackson's hip and dragging his nails down his chest to meet his other hand before lifting away. Jackson cries out. The pain is so sharp and unexpected. He's close to the edge, faster than ever. Derek's hands drop away and he steps back, putting several feet of space between them. "You're right," he says, smirking. "Not here. I want time with you. Come to my house tonight, eight." His eyes travel down Jackson slowly and Jackson's half lidded gaze watches him do it. "You'd better still have that when you come. No getting off. Only touch yourself enough to keep it." His smirk widens dangerously. "I'll know if you cheat Jackson." Jackson whimpers as his head falls back against the lockers. Eight is _forever _away. Derek passes him on the way to the door. "Don't be late," he calls over his shoulder.  
>"You're going to hurt me?" Jackson demands, desperate. Derek stops short, turning back. His smirk falls away and he watches Jackson for a long moment. There's something in his eyes that has Jackson digging his teeth into his lips ruthlessly.<br>"I'm going to take you apart." Jackson sags in relief even as his hands fist in the legs of his jeans with the sharp arousal still wrecking his nerves. Derek doesn't comment on this and when Jackson looks up again he's gone.

_A/N: Evil plot bunnies are evil. This is not my fault. _

_It's going to be a mini fic. Five planned parts._

_Scratching and biting don't do any marking here…(since Derek is a beta) _

_I think that's all._


	2. Knees

Jackson's hands are quivering at his sides and his knees are weak. His brain is one thin stream of disbelief and painful arousal, which only turns him on more. At 7:59 he gets out of his car and crosses the dark yard. There's no lights out here. If he was looking up and feeling poetic he would have been able to see the stars. Jackson's only thinking about one thing. He's only thinking with one thing. He doesn't think about the past few hours curled tight in his bed, thinking about Derek and ghosting his hands over himself, pinching every so often. He thinks that he has no idea what's going to happen now. He's scared and he likes that. The door falls open as he climbs the porch steps and Derek fills the doorway. Jackson jerks to a stop, no other option but to take him in. Jackson starts at the floor, and wonders how even Derek's feet look powerful. Black jeans cut off the pale skin, smothering it until his waist. The ripples of muscle in his stomach and chest are enough to put Jackson to shame. He catches another breath at the thought. He wonders why Derek is doing this to him. Doing this _for_ him. He knows Derek isn't fond of him. Maybe that's why. Derek reaches out a hand, sliding it under the hem of Jackson's shirt and pulling him forward wordlessly by the front of his jeans. Jackson can't help but make another small sound of anticipation. His eyes are glued to the dips and swells of Derek's back, which might as well have been made of stone. Some smooth stone. Marble maybe. Jackson can't think. He can't even…wait for whatever is going to happen.

Derek stops in the middle of what used to be a sitting room and releases Jackson's pants, taking a couple more steps before turning. His hands settle on his hips, automatically drawing Jackson's eye. His dick twitches painfully and he clenches his hands in response.  
>"You take a lot of pride in your appearance." It wasn't a question and not only did Jackson not know why the fuck they were talking about this he didn't know how or even if he was supposed to respond. He had the sickening feeling that the water was about to close over his head. "Expensive clothes, perfect hair, even," Derek paused, sniffing the air, "cologne. Which I can hardly smell over your arousal by the way." Like <em>that <em>was Jackson's fault. "Tell me Jackson. Did you pay for these things? Or did your parents?" Jackson stiffens. Why he thought they weren't actually going to do much talking is beyond him at this point.  
>"They did," he grits out, fists impossibly tight. Derek makes a 'tsk' noise while a slight smirk spreads across his lips. He obviously already knew the answer.<br>"Did you pay for any of it? Your shirt?" Jackson shakes his head, anger building. "Take it off," Derek says then. Those three words sweep away his anger so unexpectedly that Jackson doesn't move, left trying to catch up. "I said," Derek growls, stepping closer, "take it off." Jackson flinches, body flying into motion as he struggles to comply. "I don't like repeating myself," Derek warns him, expression dangerous. Jackson shivers, shirt balled in his hands.  
>"I'm s-sorry." Derek does nothing more than make a slight sound of acknowledgement, eyes traveling up and down Jackson's torso.<p>

Jackson can only guess he's staring at the scratches still there. Jackson knows they're still there because he's been rubbing them and digging his fingernails into them, delighting in the angry red as he writhed in his sheets.  
>"Your shoes?" Derek questions next, looking up. Jackson doesn't bother shaking his head. He drops his shirt to the floor and yanks his shoes off before dropping them as well. He curls his toes in his socks against the floorboards. "Even brand name socks. Really?" Derek drawls. Knees weak, Jackson yanks off the latest offensive garments. Derek steps closer before rounding him. He walks around Jackson very slowly and by the time he appears again Jackson is panting, hands once again balled at his sides. "Better," Derek admits quietly. "Still not good enough." He walks around Jackson again and goes still, standing behind him. Jackson's dying to know what he's thinking, what's going to happen next. He waits a few prolonged agonizing moments before Derek's hands land on his shoulders, kneading so hard he cries out. Derek licks a line up the back of his neck and Jackson arches in response, rolling to the balls of his feet in shock. His knees give out before Derek's reached the hairline and he falls to a rather boneless heap on the floor, on top of his discarded belongings. Derek's expression is unreadable when he looks back up. "You look good on the floor," Derek comments after another moment. Jackson knows it's not a compliment. He has a feeling that it has more to do with the fact that Derek could put him on the floor with so little effort. He looks down at him for another long moment before speaking again. "What about your pants?"<p>

Jackson's totally naked in no time at all but Derek seems content to leave him standing in the middle of the room. "Hands and knees," Derek finally offers. He smiles slightly, eyes taking on a different light suddenly, "Like a dog." Jackson pauses long enough for Derek's smile to vanish. He has the thought that he shouldn't push Derek if he has no idea how far Derek can be pushed before snapping. Jackson knows without a doubt that he does not want to see Derek snap. The floor is rough under his knees, his hands land on his shirt haphazardly. As soon as he's actually down a small shiver runs through him. _God _this position. It's making him…so…he can't even think. Derek passes him, going for the stairs. He stops in the doorway and turns, one finger crooking. Jackson glances to the floor before crawling forward. Heat flushes over him as various areas curl even tighter in burning arousal. He's so turned on he thinks he's either going to explode or faint. He's never felt like this before, yet Derek has hardly laid a hand on him. Derek continues moving forward, stopping at the stairs and taking a seat. He makes the movement lazy and graceful at the same time. Derek snaps his fingers and points to his shoes. "Come here," he adds. Jackson forces himself to meet Derek's eyes because the smug, controlling expression smothering his face is making him feel even worse. He loves it. He stops in front of Derek and hovers, unsure. Derek heaves a sigh and reaches forward, yanking Jackson's wrist off the ground. Jackson wavers dangerously before leaning back and sitting awkwardly. "Do I really have to give you instructions here?" Derek demands, pressing Jackson's hand over the snap of his jeans. Jackson swallows roughly before shaking his head.

_A/N: Hai. So it's been pointed out that this is more S&M or BDSM than masochism… To me the lines kind of blur. Derek is dominant because that's the only way I can see it happening. Jackson is dominated because he's weaker and wants what Derek is offering. Oh I'm also going with humiliation for the masochism as well. Anyways. I'm far from an expert on the subject. Hope this helped a bit. _

_Thanks for reading my twisted little bunny._


	3. Laboring

Jackson thinks that Derek wouldn't care if he tells him that he's never given head before. In fact he's had very limited experience _getting _head. But Derek really wouldn't care about that. So Jackson says nothing at all. Trying to quell the shaking in his nervous hands he scoots closer before working at the snap of Derek's jeans. It shouldn't be so difficult but Jackson's scared and hazy and he's never done this before. His jeans weren't a problem. Derek's clearly were. "Do you need me to do it for you Jackson?" Derek questions, tone cutting.  
>"N-no," Jackson manages, barely. He wishes he could stop stuttering.<br>"Prove it." Jackson adds more pressure and the silver button finally slips free of the black denim. His victory is short lived when he has to confront the zipper. Derek heaves a sigh before leaning back on his elbows, one black brow spiking. He's clearly all but lost his patience and Jackson yanks the zipper down. A small sound escapes his throat as he takes in the bare skin. It's not quite anything. Maybe a sighing groan. He doesn't know why the fact that Derek hadn't been wearing underwear is so important. It just is. Jackson leans forward, eager now, his mouth open as he sucks at the skin. Derek jerks in surprise but doesn't make a sound, hardening under Jackson's mouth. Jackson is trapped in his own thoughts for a moment as he alternates licking and sucking. It's almost like…Derek was waiting for him just as Jackson was waiting. He's shown it by not wearing anything but jeans. Jackson groans as he has the thought that for whatever reason, Derek wants this too. He wants to hurt Jackson and that's _exactly _what Jackson needs.

His tongue edges past his lips desperately licking every bit of skin he can get to. When that's not enough he pulls the black denim back, finally releasing Derek. Derek moans when the tip of his cock finally slips past Jackson's parted lips. Jackson freezes perfectly, the guttural sound resonating off the walls. He did that. Derek's hands land on his head, threading through his hair and tugging him forward brutally. Jackson gags and coughs as he takes in more than he was actually able to but Derek held him still mercilessly, nails digging into his scalp. Jackson widens his lips desperately, trying not to panic. Derek groans and arches his hips, driving himself even further in. Jackson shoves at his hips and Derek finally gets the message that he can't breathe and releases Jackson's head. He doesn't apologize or even have the decency to look apologetic. He arches that damn eyebrow again, as if to say 'Well? Get on with it.' Jackson pants for a few moments, darting his tongue out to wet his burning lips before cautiously approaching again. Derek's jutting erection is easily the size of Jackson's wrist which is just ridiculous really. Jackson wonders how Derek can possibly expect him to be good at this. The last thought gives him pause. He looks to Derek carefully, who's watching him with a bored expression. Chances were Derek did know he wouldn't be any good at this. That's why he was doing it. Jackson busies his lips with Derek's skin rather than letting himself smile. Eventually Derek gives up on Jackson's pathetic attempts at getting him off. With one hand on Jackson's shoulder he pushes him back and stands before taking Jackson by the hair and pulling him up the stairs. Jackson tries not to make a sound but moans several times on the way. Louder when his body accidentally brushed Derek's. He'd been hard for so long he was extremely sensitive to any sensation. If Jackson really thought about it he could swear he felt the air moving over his cock as Derek yanked him along.

Hitting the bed, Jackson is shoved into the side of it, should have been a relief but it isn't. His eyes are uncontrollably drawn to Derek as he strips off his jeans and tosses them against the wall. He can't help licking his lips again. It's suddenly painfully obvious what Jackson has been missing in his life so far. He needs someone stronger than him. Someone who can control him without effort. Lydia had her biting words, and honestly that was the only way Jackson could get off sometimes, but that was nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to the glare that Derek turns on him when he sees Jackson is still standing by the bed. "Waiting for a written invitation?" Derek snarls. Jackson manages one leg onto the bed before Derek shoves him down onto it. He lands on a shoulder awkwardly and with another push finds himself lying on his stomach. A firm hand in the middle of his back stops him from moving when he tries. His hands fist in the navy sheets in anticipation. Derek's hand lifts away but Jackson remains. He's sure enough that Derek wants him to stay put not to chance moving. A hand ghosts down his spine and Jackson shivers. A groan slips out when Derek sits on the backs of his thighs unexpectedly. Something sharp pierces the skin just below his neck. Before Jackson has a chance to question it, or even release another sound, Derek's mouth is covering the cut, his tongue dipping into it. The added pressure makes it sting and Jackson moans into the pillow. Still sucking on his skin, Derek breaks through it again, not far from the first.  
>"What-what are you doing?" Jackson demands between pants. Derek doesn't answer, mouth moving to the second cut, tongue digging in again. Derek moves lower after another moment, repeating the entire process. He does it again and again until Jackson is left in a burning, haze. The nerve endings in his back are on fire and lighting up and he doesn't even care what Derek is doing anymore. All he knows is that it hurts and Derek isn't saying anything so he assumes it's not pissing him off too much. Derek stops just above Jackson's ass and lays his body over Jackson's. His hands move over Jackson's wrists and Jackson can see Derek's hands for the first time since they've gotten into bed. His fingernails are elongated unnaturally, a few stained brown. There are tiny scratches up and down his spine. Jackson shivers beneath Derek, moaning again.<p>

He supposes he knew that Derek wasn't exactly the average town loner. He knows at this point it's the last thing that matters. One of Derek's hands lifts, distracting him, the nails recede unexplainably and then the hand disappears from view. Derek's entire body pulls back and he's spreading Jackson's thighs before settling between them. He pulls Jackson open and spits on the skin before pressing a finger against him. There's only a second's hesitation before Derek shoves it in. Jackson screams into the pillow, arching into the touch even as he does. The motion stretches the skin on his back laboring to close up and it's like pain is in a solid line from Derek straight up to Jackson's brain. For a few dizzying moments, black spots dancing, Jackson can't even breathe. It takes him several moments to realize that Derek is kneading the skin on his thigh, the other hand gently rocking against him. Jackson knows it's only concern over not being able to fuck an unconscious body. He draws that line too. Jackson shifts his body gently, experimentally, more pain sparking in his back, something sticky on his stomach. "Impressive," Derek breathes, inserting another finger as Jackson arches against him again. Jackson silently agrees. He's only ever heard of guys coming without losing their erection. It's a bit mind blowing.  
>"Please," he manages hoarsely.<br>"Please what?" Jackson thinks it should be obvious but he says it anyways.  
>"More." Derek's fingers, still rough inside him, fan before sliding out. Derek yanks his hips up and thrusts inside. Jackson screams again. It hurts more than anything he's experienced. It burns and actually feels like Derek is ripping into him, maybe through him. Tears are pooling in his eyes but he's still desperate for more. He arches his hack and lets it relax before arching again. He keeps the skin moving and the pain rippling through him. Derek quickly takes the hint and settles a hand on the back of his neck, forcing the motion in the same rhythm he's fucking him with. Jackson can't manage more than broken gasps and pants and reaches desperately for his cock. He squeezes hard and jerks his hand roughly unable to wait, needing release. There was so much pain and he knew it wasn't going to last. He didn't want his body to get used to it or relax into it, not before he could- A sharp pain in his shoulder is the last thing it takes to drive him screaming over the edge. Jackson collapses in a boneless heap as Derek finishes above him, moaning into Jackson's skin where his mouth is now connected. Derek releases his shoulder with a slight pop before rolling to the side. After several minutes he glances to Jackson thoughtfully.<br>"Turn over," he says softly. Jackson manages a half lidded glare and groans before complying. Derek's fingertip runs along the inside of his thigh before he offers it to Jackson. Jackson shoots a questioning glance to the dripping white appendage before letting his lips fall open. Jackson isn't sure why Derek is doing it. Or what exactly his expression is as Jackson slowly sucks his finger clean. He does know something about this is erotic and wrong at the same time. Needless to say, it appeals. Derek's finger returns to his leg and then swirls through the fast drying smudges on his stomach before pausing in front of Jackson's lips again. Heart slamming into his ribs, Jackson sucks it clean again. It doesn't taste any different, even though Jackson has convinced himself it should. He doesn't think beyond that. "Wear a belt next time," Derek says, settling into the bed and laying an arm over his eyes. Jackson's left to wonder in the silence why. He shivers one last time before slipping into the welcoming darkness.

_A/N: Might be an epilogue after part five… Writing now. You'll probably know when I do._


	4. Cover

Jackson loves it. He loves the lingering pain. He loves the memories that he can still jerk off to. He loves the anticipation of the next encounter. He loves having to wear t-shirts in the locker room to cover the marks. He loves still being afraid of Derek. Jackson only has four belts and he's been rotating them every day in hopes that Derek will just show up and…do even worse things to his body. The scratches dotting his back, up and down his spine, twenty six in all, were healed over and hardly hurt anymore. He sighs and closes his locker, purposely swinging his book bag over them. Barely anything. Damn. Another sigh and he's headed out the side door for the parking lot. At least there's no practice today. Small miracles. He can go home and mope in silence. He's already thrown his bag in his trunk and closed it before he looks up to see a black Camaro parked not far off. His hands fall on the hood haphazardly. The Camaro starts and Jackson catches his breath before shoving off his car and walking towards it. The door handle opens under his hand easily and he slides in. Derek doesn't say anything and this immediately puts Jackson on edge. It's better this way. He makes an effort to settle into the seat as Derek pulls out of the parking space. The silence is tense and awkward as they sit in the traffic clogging the lot. Derek brakes again, sighing and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His hand is on Jackson suddenly, flipping up his t-shirt and running fingertips over the dark brown leather of his belt.  
>"Mm," Derek lets out, his hand sliding away. Jackson lets himself take in Derek for the first time. He's wearing his leather jacket over a grey t-shirt. Black jeans, Jackson can see the tops of his sneakers as well. He looks like he always looks. Jackson wonders if he's wearing underwear this time.<p>

He breathes a quiet sigh of relief when they finally make it out of the parking lot, Derek immediately going towards the twisting back roads. He drives fast enough to keep Jackson on the edge of his seat but when they reach his house faster than Jackson thought possible he's glad for it. Derek gets out without a word and Jackson rushes to follow him. He's a bit breathless, his heart slapping against his ribs. "Take off your shirt," Derek tosses over his shoulder. He walks straight forward, to the side of the staircase. Jackson strips off his shirt and lets it drop to the floor, watching as Derek grabs two banisters above his head and yanks on them. He's apparently not satisfied by this because he lifts himself by them, holding himself off the floor for several moments. Dropping down he sheds his jacket and tosses it over a new end table between Jackson and him. Derek snaps his fingers and points to the floor by his feet. Jackson knows it shouldn't but the summons makes his stomach tighten in anticipation. Derek points to the banisters as he approaches. "Don't let go." A shiver racing over his skin Jackson reaches up and takes the smooth wood in both hands. It stretches his arms over his head but isn't uncomfortable. He reaches higher. Derek's hands move around him, opening the belt before yanking it free. Jackson's hands tighten on the banisters. For the first time he thinks he knows what Derek has planned.

The first strike has Jackson swaying into the wall for support. He bites into his lip, releasing a muffled groan as the shock wears off and the pain actually sets in. It's a burning stripe across his back. Another quick smack sounds before a pause. The sound of leather against his skin is ringing in his ears and Jackson fights to take a breath. "Do you need a safe word?" Derek questions, his breath hot on Jackson's ear. Somehow Jackson smiles.  
>"How about if I faint?"<br>"Interesting," Derek comments, the heat from his body seeping away as he steps back. Shame teases at Jackson's brain, only banished by another swing of the belt. Jackson moans this time, pulling his hips back before letting them sway to the wall again. His toes curl when Derek strikes again, lower on his back, sparking new pain. Jackson slides his hands down about an inch, letting his shoulders relax. It's just in time for the belt to land across them. The blow is unexpected, somehow, and knocks the breath from Jackson's chest. He sags into the wall again, forehead resting against his arm. There's another strike before he's regained anything and Jackson can't control the ragged moan that slips out. Jackson grits his teeth and tries to stay calm. He loses track. The belt seems to be coming faster and faster. Jackson's entire back is on fire and he's fairly sure he's bleeding. Suddenly he wishes he had chosen a safe word. He lets his hands slide down the banisters further and he's leaning against the wall totally.  
>"Derek," the plea slips out softly, against his will.<p>

Derek jerks to a stop; the belt swinging softly against Jackson's hip as he drops it down. There's a tense silence and Jackson feels like he should apologize but he's busy trying not to cry. The belt falls to the floor, the buckle clanging against it. Jackson shudders. He's not sure when exactly it happened, all he knows is it's gone too far now. Derek tugs on his wrists, Jackson's fingers falling from the railings easily. Jackson exhales shakily. Tears begin sliding down as Derek guides him up the stairs and Jackson has never felt this pathetic in his entire life. More than anything he wants to be home, alone. Derek seats him on the toilet and turns on the shower. He turns back and crouches down, taking off Jackson's shoes and socks. Once that's done he pauses, hands curling on the floor.  
>"Jackson," he murmurs. Jackson doesn't respond, closing his eyes. "Jackson," Derek repeats. "Look at me." Jackson inhales deeply and swipes his hands over his cheeks before looking down at him. "I'm sorry," Derek says carefully. Jackson nods once, looking to his hands clenched in his lap. Derek stands him up before fishing his phone and wallet out of his pockets. He puts Jackson in the shower and follows after another moment. Jackson's glad even though he hates it. He has to lean against Derek to stay upright. The water starts out lukewarm but eventually shifts to cold and Derek holds him still until his back is completely numb. Then he guides Jackson out of the shower and to his bed. Jackson settles on his side, closing his eyes immediately. "Your clothes are wet."<br>"Don't care." The bed dips as Derek climbs in. He opens Jackson's jeans and slides them off as gently as possible. His boxers follow suit and Derek lays the sheet over him.  
>"I'll be back," he whispers.<p>

_A/N: Next chapter should be up soon…_


	5. Change

Jackson can't sleep. There's too much going on in his head and he's not even tired anyways. The shame is worse than it's ever been. He wants to curl up and die. Why does he have to do this? Why does he need this? Stifling a groan he sits up. He needs to get home. Not to mention he's fairly sure he never wants to see Derek again. Thinking over it he is sure. He never wants to see him again. After everything. After all of this. God Jackson just shouldn't even have wanted it and giving in was another thing entirely. He needs to get out of here. Groaning softly as he bends down his fingertips graze his boxers and he pulls them up. Taking a deep breath Jackson lets himself sit still for a moment. He shakes them out and lifts his right leg, sliding them on, before repeating the action with his left. The fabric is still slightly damp and it only makes him cringe. The good news is that his back is throbbing at a level of pain that he can actually handle. It's pretty much as bad as when McCall separated his shoulder. He can handle it. And even if he couldn't…he'd wanted it so. He'd have to deal with it. This thought fresh on his brain Jackson stands and gathers his jeans. He's managed to pull them up, and is about to snap them when Derek's voice cuts him off.  
>"What do you think you're doing?" Instead of jerking to look up like he wants to, Jackson shrinks back onto himself. This is horrible. Derek would be able to move silently.<br>"I was g-going to go h-home." Jackson still doesn't look up, his cheeks flushing in what could be embarrassment but he's fairly sure is really humiliation so acute he's about to die.  
>"Didn't I say I'd be back?" Derek demands. Jackson doesn't say anything, nodding jerkily in response. His hands clutch at the denim of his still open jeans. "Get back in bed Jackson." Jackson sneaks a tiny glance at him, enough to see the crumpled pharmacy bag in his hand, before doing as he was told.<p>

Barely a moment passes between Jackson getting in and the bed dipping as Derek joins him. The paper bag rips and several things fall onto the bed. Jackson's fairly sure it's going to hurt no matter what so he buries his head in his arm and closes his eyes. Waiting is agony. Jackson begins to wonder how he ever liked pain in the first place. Derek is quiet. Perfectly quiet. Jackson can feel him moving more than he can hear it. At the first touch he jumps. Derek lets out a quiet 'shh' as his fingertips slide across Jackson's skin, smoothing something slick and cold. "Talk to me," Derek says quietly, surprising Jackson again.  
>"About what?" Jackson questions the space between his lips and his arm, admittedly there isn't much.<br>"Anything," Derek answers, hands moving lower. "What's your family like?"  
>"Don't know," he pauses to hiss out a gasp, "I was adopted."<br>"So that's why you're so-"  
>"Damaged?" Jackson supplies, grimacing.<br>"I was going to say insecure. You don't know what damaged is Jackson."  
>"Pain gets me off. Seems pretty damaged to me."<br>"You like pain because it makes you feel strong. You like it because you tell yourself that if you can handle it then you're in control. You take what your body is telling you and twist it."  
>"You say that like it's normal." Jackson almost can't believe they're having this conversation. It's an alien concept. But they already have so many secrets spilled between them, physical secrets that no one else knows. It's easier to talk in the dark, with someone who's already seen the very core of you. "It's not normal," he adds as an afterthought, wondering if Derek is right. There's a pause in the conversation and Derek works in silence, Jackson waits.<br>"I've never been one for normal."

Silence falls between them and Jackson focuses on breathing in and out as Derek soothes his abused skin. "Why do you like pain so much?" Derek demands quietly as he stands. Jackson thought about shrugging briefly.  
>"Don't know."<br>"Too bad I'm not a therapist," Derek murmurs, settling back into bed on the other side of him. Jackson chuckled, somehow.  
>"If you were my therapist I'd really be in deep."<br>"We both would kid." Derek shoots a quick glance to him, one eyebrow spiked. Jackson chuckles again, tucking his face back into his arm. Just when he thought his life couldn't get any weirder.  
>"What happens now?" Jackson questions, peeking at Derek through the tiny triangle of light his elbow provides.<br>"Probably a good question. I didn't have anything specific planned."  
>"Really?" Jackson's surprised. "You've been…in control the whole time…" He lets his voice drift off, face heating.<br>"This was only supposed to be a onetime thing." Jackson isn't sure what to say so he closes his eyes and doesn't say anything at all. "You weren't what I expected," Derek adds softly.

"In a good way?" Jackson demands, tone laced with shock.  
>"I don't waste my time Jackson."<br>"Well…but…" Jackson chews on his lip to stop himself. Derek shifts slightly and when Jackson looks at him again Derek is leaning closer to him.  
>"But what?"<br>"The belt," Jackson manages weakly, "and…I'm me." Derek's expression flickers and after he settles it he rolls onto his back and exhales quickly.  
>"No one has ever seen you like this, have they?"<br>"Maybe one," Jackson admits after a moment.  
>"So why am I?"<br>"You don't like lying."  
>"No," Derek sighs, "no I don't. Lies are complications. They're always complications."<br>"But you like hurting me," Jackson argues, his tone sliding towards petulant.  
>"I like distracting myself." Jackson let the silence settle. He didn't know where this conversation was going. He didn't know where anything was going lately. His head was practically spinning. "You should rest," Derek murmurs. The room is quiet for a long time. Jackson's mind has slowed but one thing keeps bothering him.<br>"Why do you need to distract yourself?" he whispers. Derek doesn't even twitch and for a moment Jackson thinks he's fallen asleep.  
>"That's a story I'm not ready to tell." Jackson knew better than to press him.<p>

Derek is awake before him in the morning. Jackson is still embarrassed and confused so he stays silent as he sits up. Derek watches him closely, eyes narrowing when a whimper escapes Jackson's lips.  
>"I'll be fine," he says.<br>"You can borrow a shirt," Derek offers. Jackson's not feeling a walk of shame so he nods. He gets out of bed slowly and meets Derek by the dresser. Derek offers him a black shirt and Jackson realizes he shouldn't have been surprised. He can't help a groan as he tries to put it on and Derek's hands are suddenly helping him. He smoothes it over Jackson's chest, hands resting there longer than necessary. "Okay?" Jackson nods slowly. "Yeah?" Derek questions, stepping closer. Jackson nods again, breath hitching. Derek's fingertips catch Jackson's chin and he turns his face both ways slowly, as if examining him. Jackson flushes under the inspection, familiar doubt and shame creeping in. When Derek's lips catch his Jackson actually, insanely can't breathe. Not in or out. Nothing. It's not the best kiss Jackson has ever had because he doesn't respond. Still…it's debatable because he _can't _respond. He's frozen. Derek definitely looks amused when he pulls back. "Good," he allows, a tiny smile curving his lips.  
>"I should get to school," Jackson says, stumbling over the words as he wonders how he could think of school at a time like this. Derek walks to the door with him. He grips Jackson's elbow for a moment when he pulls it open. Derek doesn't meet his eyes, examining the floor.<br>"I haven't cared about anything in a long time."  
>"I've never let myself care about anything," Jackson returns. He hasn't. Not really. He's wanted things. He's accomplished things. This is different. There was something so raw about Derek right from the start. And Jackson had returned it. There were no lies between them. They didn't have to fake it. They just were. "School," Jackson says suddenly, reminding himself. Derek smirks.<br>"Good boy." Jackson grimaces at him. "I'll be here if you feel like coming back," Derek says, still smirking. It's amazing what it does to clear Jackson's expression.  
>"That sounds like an offer."<br>"Maybe physical therapy is my calling."

_A/N: There will be a short, lemony epilogue. I feel kinda bad that this went down a sensitive trail… But I also wanted some sort of story to happen so I guess it's okay. _

_Hope you liked._


	6. Need

Jackson half turns in his desk chair as Derek raps his knuckles along the windowsill.  
>"I'm kind of busy," he mutters distractedly.<br>"I kind of don't care," Derek returns, sitting on the edge of the bed. Jackson ignores him, clicking his pencil several times before typing something into his laptop. "Fine," Derek drawls, "what are you working on?"  
>"I have to research the serenity prayer."<br>"Sounds boring. I have a better idea."  
>"That would be?" Jackson returns dryly. Derek stands, leaning over his shoulder.<br>"Let me fuck you."  
>"Can't you come back later?" Jackson asks, looking back to the computer screen. Derek growls slightly, annoyed with his refusal.<br>"Giving you a choice was clearly a mistake." Derek reaches around him and grabs the laptop, tossing it behind him on the bed. When Jackson stands, a mix of shock and rage on his face, Derek turns him back around, bending him over the desk. He groans weakly, hands catching the edge of it and pushing. Derek ignores his struggles. "Do you really not want to?" Derek asks haltingly, hand settling on Jackson's back.  
>"If I get a B it's your fault," Jackson answers.<p>

Derek smiles. He leans over Jackson, pressing a slow kiss to his neck as he scans the notebook Jackson had been scribbling in.  
>"'God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change'," he deciphers softly. He leans over Jackson's ear, kneading the muscles in his back. "I kind of like it."<br>"Oh?" Jackson lets out, breathless.  
>"It's a good lesson for you at least." Jackson's reply is ground into a long groan as Derek rolls his hips into Jackson's ass. Derek reaches around him, making quick work of his jeans before shoving them down. "Accept what you can't control," Derek repeats, fingers ghosting down Jackson's hips, stripping away his boxer briefs.<br>"Can't control you," Jackson moans. Derek smiles slowly.  
>"No," he agrees. He presses a slicked finger against Jackson. Jackson fucks back onto it without being told. Derek curls his finger slightly, inhaling at Jackson's broken little gasp. He's not sure why the sound relieves him. He's not sure that it should. He concentrates on Jackson again, if only to distract himself. Jackson moans again, eyes slipping closed as Derek adds another finger. Derek works on his breathing as blood flows south and for a moment all he can concentrate on is the rise and fall of his own chest, vision going black around the edges. Jackson's still rocking back and forth and Derek needs him so bad it suddenly hurts. He fumbles with his belt buckle, which was so simple this morning, and yanks open his jeans, nearly ripping the black denim. He spits into his palm, a generous amount. It's not difficult to salivate when he's around Jackson. Slowly, even though he needs it, he drops his hand down, hissing as his cock twitches under his touch. Derek strokes himself carefully, fingers loosely moving over the length. He can't help but give an experimental squeeze at the base, gasping as his hips bucked forward on their own. Yeah. He needs it.<p>

Jackson moans again as Derek slips his fingers free. He slides in slowly, gritting his teeth, not wanting to hurt Jackson. He's been trying to wean him off the pain. Jackson still needs it but Derek knows it's all in his head. If he could just get in there… For now he settles with Jackson's body. He settles in Jackson's body. Jackson clenches around him and Derek can't wait any longer. His hips slide back gently before he snaps them forward, taking Jackson by surprise. Jackson's hands slam on the desk and he shoves his body back against Derek desperately.  
>"Please Derek, I need…" he drifted into a tortured groan.<br>"I know what you need but you can't have it this time." Jackson gave a pained whimper.  
>"Please," he breathed, hands scrambling over the desk again. Derek caught his wrists and trapped them at the small of his back. He paused before bending closer.<br>"No," he whispered into the shell of Jackson's ear. Jackson whined again, wriggling. Derek resumed his thrusts slowly. "Can't control it," Derek said, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust. "You can't control me fucking you. You can't control my cock in your ass. You can't even control whether or not you're going to come. Can you?"  
>"Unh…n-no," Jackson manages. His eyes squeeze closed as sweat gathers between his shoulder blades, making his t-shirt stick to the skin.<br>"You don't want control do you?" Derek questions, slowing in a subtle threat.  
>"No," Jackson responds immediately, nearly pleading again. Derek can't help a slight smile.<br>"Good boy."

He switches Jackson's wrists to one hand, the other sliding up his back and fisting in his hair. Placing Jackson's head the way he wants it he leans down and presses a hot kiss to his neck, withdrawing his hand before Jackson can get anything out of the grip. His patience is fraying away and Derek considers giving in to what Jackson wants, if only so he can find relief. There's a brief flash of guilt at the thought. Gritting his teeth he slows and changes angles, shifting until Jackson lets lose another broken moan. Jackson's meeting him as best he can, muscles in his back contracting and standing out in sharp relief.  
>"Derek please…please." Derek can nearly taste the desperation rolling off of Jackson. Saliva pools on his tongue.<br>"Come for me Jackson. Now."  
>"I…oh <em>God<em>." Jackson half arches off the desk, groaning as he contracts around Derek. A full grin takes Derek's lips and he lets go of his control, teeth sinking into Jackson's shoulder, tearing through fabric and skin, purely on instinct. He groans through the blood as the tension in him shatters. His teeth retract and he licks his lips, lapping at Jackson's shoulder again.  
>"Sorry," he breathes, standing slowly.<br>"God," Jackson pants in response, "don't be." He doesn't move other than letting his arms flop to the desk. "That was fantastic." Derek fixes his clothes before helping Jackson, who's still moving sluggishly. Derek offers a soft smile before kissing his temple quickly.  
>"Take care of that shoulder," he paces towards the window, "and finish your paper." Jackson smiles and flushes, glancing to his toes.<br>"Anything else?" Derek pauses at the windowsill and turns back, smile twisting to a smirk.  
>"Get an A and I'll give you a reward."<p>

_A/N: Lemons, as promised. _

_Thanks for reading.. ^.^_


End file.
